


Task S*K

by Silmerion



Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Crush, Crushes, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, mention made of May, noted gaymer icon Bedman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 20:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15759504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silmerion/pseuds/Silmerion
Summary: Bedman and Ramlethal, college roommates and self-described genius gamers, share a crush on Sin Kiske, the gym bunny next door. Together they contrive the most efficient ways to hem and haw over their gorgeous, distant object of affection. But all the diabolical plotting in the world can't save them from their own awkwardness.





	Task S*K

Bedman didn’t bother looking as the door opened. He had memorized his roommate’s class schedule even before the semester started, and after that it had been a straightforward matter of calibrating for her walking speed and pathing algorithm. Today he had even known precisely where she would stop along the way: Infinity Burger, to pick up both of their dinners. He had requested it that very morning. It almost felt like cheating to forecast an itinerary he himself had set, but Bedman would take any small advantage he could in this private pastime of his. His eyes flitted to the digital clock luminescing on their idle stereo display: 4:51 pm. His prediction was accurate to the minute. That pushed the probability that it was indeed her well past even the most strenuously enforced evidential thresholds. Besides, Ram was the only other person who ever entered their apartment. Of course it was her.

He returned his full attention to the game in front of him, eyeing the timer warily. He believed his team was on pace to tidy this up well before the eight minutes and thirty-nine seconds remaining had passed. But with five teammates and six opponents to account for, he had to admit he could not state that belief with confidence. Food could only be put on hold for so long if he wanted it at its most satisfying, and the loss function for _abandoned game early_ vs. _had to eat a cold burger_ was tough to solve for analytically.

A screaming wave of neon energy jostled his avatar out of her sniper scope. Bedman’s lip curled in a lazy snarl as he worked to pinpoint his assailant. Food would have to wait.

Ramlethal sidled up to him behind the couch, wax paper wrap crinkling as she lifted her burger toward its doom. “The professor asked about you again.”

Of course he did. Bedman suspected she only brought it up to needle him, but he was delighted to rise to her provocation. “Ram, you know I couldn’t care less what that incompetent cur has to say about my truancy. I doubt he’s had an original thought about compilers in 30 years, and to dispense with modesty for a moment, I am quite beyond needing the subject’s _undergraduate dicta_.” He snapped off two headshots mid-rant and absently grappled his way to the capture point. “When his pedagogy advances beyond regurgitating academic examples from ancient textbooks, I will be happy to resume attendance.”

“Okay. I’ll tell him that,” Ramlethal intoned.

“...Please keep that to yourself.”

“Okay.” A beat. “Healer on the balcony in three.”

_Three, two, one._  Bedman had his reticle lined up for the headshot before the enemy was even on screen. Even he had to admit Ramlethal’s game sense was uncanny.

Seconds more of silence, then: “He’s outside right now.”

A curious non sequitur. Their professor? Obviously not. The healer? No, he was at spawn now. Bedman settled on keeping his reply noncommittal. “I see.”

“Shirtless.”

Oh. _That_ him. The gorily contested checkpoint before him dissolved from focus, quaint by comparison. Bedman tore himself from the couch and careened for their living room window. Ramlethal was probably in tow, but who cared about Ramlethal? The girl had already had her fill, from the sounds of it. He flung their blackout curtain to the extreme of its rail, weathered the explosion of afternoon sun. If he would turn from mere sunlight, he could never hope to behold the radiance that was _him_.

Sin Kiske towered in the grassy field next to their apartment, shirtless indeed, watching his adorable golden retriever scramble after a ball. Bedman had caught the blonde recovering from the toss, and a sharp exhale tore from his nostrils as he surveyed the exquisite expanse of Sin’s back muscles, followed them all the way down to where they vanished into ratty sweatpants. They were droll black, speckled with old paint, ripped in all the most boring places, and right on the border of a size too large. Pants like those should have been a turn-off - should have done less for their owner’s gorgeous ass - but they spoke to a humble affability, a proletarian mythos that left Bedman’s heart tittering. The blonde brought his throwing hand up to run through his hair, and the spikes of shaggy mane bristling between his fingers could have been teeth yawning wide, his head and neck and arm describing an ouroboros of delectable flesh. He was the boy next door in both the literal and archetypal sense, and as usual he left Bedman’s guts a roiling, whimpering mess. “Fuck,” he muttered, not turning to speak. “Why didn’t you _lead_ with that?”

“You were busy,” Ramlethal said from just behind his shoulder, no doubt ogling as intently as he was.

“Bullshit. You thought it would be funnier to wait, you rapscallion.”

“I did.” She nudged his shoulder until he grudgingly granted her his attention. In her hand was his burger, a peace offering. “Here.”

Catering the burger he himself had paid for across the room was hardly a magnanimous apology, but it would have to do. He accepted it, unwrapping it delicately. “This is an unscheduled outdoor venture. Usually it’s May who accompanies their dog on bathroom breaks, and she most frequently does so around a half hour from now.”

“Not every other Thursday,” Ramlethal noted, deadpan tone conceding no pleasure in the correction. “May has lab then. Also, this isn’t a bathroom break,” she pointed out. “Sometimes people just go outside.”

“It’s _weird_ ,” he assented, punctuating the point with a hearty bite of burger. “I’m impressed that you studied May’s schedule. That’s dedication to our cause I didn’t think you had.”

Ramlethal shrugged. “We have linear algebra together. She’s nice. She likes Smash Bros.”

“You’ve _spoken_ to her!?”

“Mm.”

Bedman’s eyes narrowed as he weighed this news, though they never left his target. Sin was kneeling now, play-wrestling with the dog and bubbling with joy, pecs and biceps pulsing arrhythmically. He watched the boy’s fingers play behind the retriever’s ears, affectionate scritches belying the force Bedman was so fond of imagining his grip could apply. Weeks ago, Bedman had chanced upon Sin practicing flag twirling for one of his cheerleading routines, and had decided that anyone who could whip a flag through that much air resistance had to have a firm wrist. God. “ _Which_ Smash does she play, Ram?”

He spared Ramlethal a glance when she didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes were glazed, apertures absorbing their shared crush in long exposure. He elbowed her side and she jerked toward him, as if from a trance. “What?”

“Which Smash does she play.”

“Oh. I didn’t ask.”

“Ram, which Smash she plays is _crucial discriminating information_ ,” he growled, returning his scrutiny to the yard. “And if she doesn’t have an answer, that’s even more - oh god _NO._ ”

Sin was waving at them, beaming like a lighthouse under a new moon.

Sin had noticed them.

_Sin had noticed them._ Before Bedman could warn Ramlethal, she shunted him hard away from the window. He didn’t even have time to teeter, crashing onto their carpet with a profound _oof_. The fall had thrown his glasses askew, and as he righted them he caught Ramlethal frantically tossing the curtain shut with one hand. Her other shielded her eyes, as if plunging herself into abject darkness could shelter her from her own mortification. “No. No no no no no. He’s going to hate me,” she opined mournfully, her other hand now fortifying the first.

Bedman’s mind was nowhere. Sin had seen them... _leering_. From his subconscious poured forth dolls bearing licentious parodies of his face, grotesque intent palpable; surely, Sin must have seen the same. They lapped at, then crashed into the jolt of pain from the fall, washing his senses in turbulence. The burger hadn’t left his hold, and he steadied himself against it, surveying the damage. It had largely retained its structural integrity, but Bedman’s grip had tightened on reflex during the fall, and his thumb had torn the wrapping. He could make out a trace of spongy white beyond; he had penetrated the bun. Onto the carpet fell a rivulet of juice and sauce that he would have to clean soon. “What. Pray tell. Was _that!?_ ” he demanded.

“I’m sorry,” Ramlethal said. She was struggling to compose herself, her voice shaky but retracting into its monotone shell. Her hands left her eyes, and she met his incensed expression neutrally. “But I had to. I had to grab the curtain. You were in the way.”

“You could simply have _requested,_ ” Bedman hissed, “that I _move_.” He hauled himself into a sitting position, resting his elbows limply against his knees. “And it isn’t as if hiding accomplishes anything. Sin, he…” He clenched his fists to beat back the rising nausea. Vomiting would hardly relieve the situation. “He already saw us. He _knows._ ”

Ramlethal’s mask didn’t budge, but its cheeks did turn a shade paler. She regarded Bedman’s spot on the carpet, carefully skirting eye contact, before swiveling on her heel and marching toward the kitchen. She returned moments later with paper towels and a bottle of spray cleaner, both of which Bedman accepted without comment, trading her his burger for the duration.

His roommate watched him clean somberly, stare boring through the floor. “I wanted...to talk to him,” she began at length. “But I was scared. He’s so handsome and friendly. Easy with people. Nothing like me. I hide inside and play games all day. I’m a weird - weird p-p-pervert. I thought for so long that. That he would _hate_ me. Now he’s definitely going to.”

Bedman had had similar thoughts. Of course he had. But Bedman had dealt with them by grinding them to dust. This was his position in the social hierarchy; he had long since made peace with the distance between him and his crush. Some rivers were simply too wide, their flows too vigorous, to be forded. “We’ve been shut-ins since move-in day. Surely, our reputation as weirdos precedes us.” His mouth pulled taut, rueful. “Now we’re voyeuristic weirdos. It’s not so much a revelation as it is merely a...more precise moniker.”

Articulating that aloud did numb the sting somewhat, but it appeared to have exactly the opposite effect on Ramlethal. Her mask finally crumbled under the weight of her shame. “I hope he doesn’t tell May. I like her. I want to stay her friend.”

“Come now, let’s not panic. I...can conceive of universes in which things work out,” he suggested. “Perhaps he didn’t recognize us. Our reclusive behavior may work to our advantage here; tell me, have you, in fact, spoken to Sin since he assisted us with the couch?” Though if memory served, neither of them had done more speaking than necessary to him that day, either.

“No.”

“Then I see no cause to believe he so much as recalls our names,” Bedman concluded. A burble of laughter escaped his throat; he was almost buying his own tenuous assurances. “And anyway, all we were doing was standing at a window! That is our right and privilege as window owners. We’re overreacting. Probably. Yes, yes, people look at things all the time. If we’re caught again he may alert his confidants and/or the proper authorities, to be sure, but to raise alarm over one lecherous observance beggars the imagination.”

Ramlethal considered this. Her obvious displeasure faltered just a smidgen, and she returned a wan smile. “Maybe,” she conceded. “Yeah. Maybe it’ll be okay. Everything will be -”

Three sharp knocks on their door shattered their reverie. Ramlethal’s eyes flitted to the entryway, then back, and when they locked eyes again the panic in her stare mirrored that in his gut. If Sin had come to chew them out, Bedman doubted he would ever leave his room again.

Confidence could not carry either of them to the door: only macabre resignation, the kind that preceded a successful all-nighter, kept the instructions moving to their limbs. Ramlethal had firmed up first, and she reached the door a full six paces ahead of Bedman, who held that distance, grimly guarding her back. She turned to him after checking the peephole, eyebrow scarcely cocked. “No one there,” she said. He fixed her with a look he prayed was more assuring than pleading, and she carefully swung the door open to their empty hallway.

“Boo.”

Ramlethal yelped and wheeled backward as if buffeted by a gale, that one syllable a raucous thunderclap. For the second time that day Ramlethal threatened to send Bedman to the ground, but with a fraction more warning this time he instinctively braced, catching her careening form firmly by the shoulders. Their tormentor stepped forth, and Bedman fearfully turned his gaze toward the doorway yawning wide, ghastly hallway lighting casting a beast in twilit silhouette, to see…

...Sin, doubled over, _laughing._ No, that wasn’t quite sufficient - guffawing, really. His one visible eye might as well have been sewn shut by the laugh lines draping across and over his cheekbone. He was still entirely too shirtless for Bedman’s recuperating composure, and the sensory whiplash was almost enough to crack his shock into indignation. But then Sin lifted his hands from his abdomen to run back through his hair, rolling his shoulders and inhaling deeply, and the rippling flex of his abs obliterated any objection that might have been accumulating on Bedman’s tongue. _God._ “Holy shit I got you guys so good,” the boy boasted, blue eye now positively shining with mirth. “Ohohohoho man, that was fucking _timeless!_ I shoulda had May take a picture.”

“Wha...wh-wh-wh...” Bedman wasn’t sure who started it, but both he and his roommate had settled on stammering the same inarticulate syllable in reply. He had prayed he would be more, well, _seductive_ in their first real conversation; had resigned himself mere minutes ago to never having the chance; and now abruptly had missed it.

Sin pressed on, unfazed. “Oh my god you two are so funny! Listen, you can’t shut the curtain like that and expect me not to come up here. You’re _obviously_ challenging me to peek-a-boo when you do that, you nerds,” he teased. “You okay, Beddy-bye? That push looked real as fuck, yo.”

Beddy-bye? _Beddy-bye!?_ “Buh. Buh. Buh buh…”

“Whoa, hey, deep breaths. It’s gonna be chill! God, you two don’t spook well, huh?” He grimaced. He folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe in what might have been a show of sincere sheepishness; Bedman could have died then and there. “Blah. My bad. Hey though, I actually did come up here for a reason?”

Ah. Naturally. Pretending otherwise for a minute had been fun, but they had been caught with their pants down (metaphorically) and Sin was here to confront them. Against his hands Bedman could feel Ramlethal tense, steeling herself for the coming rebuke. “Okay. We understand,” she announced, and Bedman could barely hear her over his own roaring pulse, his gut clenching as if anticipating an actual strike. “Say it.”

If their resignation had touched him, drawn from any disguised well of saintly mercy, Sin gave no indication. He was all canines and incisors as he delivered the verdict. “You two wanna come to a party on Sunday?”

Bedman exploded. “I’m sorry, we won’t ever do i-wait _what?_ ”

“Yeah! Seeing you two reminded me that we haven’t hung out, like, _at all_ yet. Which is a _serious bummer_ , my dudes. I kept wanting to invite you but then I’d forget! Gramps says I’ve got the memory of a goldfish, which if you think about it is kind of silly, because I’ve got _multiple_ memories of goldfish, not just the one.” Then reminiscence cast Sin’s face into long shadow. “I miss Cheeto. He was such a good boy.”

Ramlethal blinked, extra slowly, as if attempting to do so in reverse. “What.”

“May’s gonna be there too,” Sin continued obliviously. “You two are friends, right, Ram? She says you’re _super_ smart!”

Bedman was a phobic stepping off his first roller coaster, solace and sickness waging total war, and suddenly he was feeling surly. “She is,” he confirmed. “I - Sin. We are flattered by your generous offer, but I’m afraid that we must -”

“We’ll come,” Ramlethal said. Oh _no._

“Oh my gosh _yesssssssssss,_ ” he cheered, pumping his fist. “It’s just gonna be in our suite, so uh, come over when you hear music I guess!”

“Wait, wait,” Bedman furiously backpedaled. “I don’t really know -”

But Sin’s expression was so pleased, so unabashedly hopeful, that he couldn’t finish the objection. “That is to say, I, I don’t really know what to bring to such an event. What would you like?”

“Oh, you’re cool! I eat a _lot_ so my dad gives me, like, a _humongous_ budget for snackies.” He cocked finger guns at the both of them, winking. “Just bring your butts!” And then he was gone, the door to his neighboring suite slamming shut behind him.

Unsteadily, Ramlethal ambled toward their own door, closing it with more care. _A party_. “We’re fucked, Ram,” Bedman observed.

Ram didn’t move. “I’ve never been to one without my sister.”

“Funny, me neither,” Bedman laughed, grimacing.

She whirled on him then, tears openly streaming down her so often placid cheeks. “I’m _sorry_ I don’t know what _happened_ I just, I, he asked and I was so _happy_ and -”

“No, Ram, no!” He waved her off, eyes flying elsewhere, seeking comfort in the taupe of their apartment wall. “I agreed, too. We _both_ were careless. To expect us to behave rationally in the presence of his beguiling form, his devilish tongue...no, we must set more reasonable goals than that. Perhaps this flag could not be skipped.”

That stopped Ramlethal short. She swiped at her tears just once more, her brow furrowing in contemplation. “Then...maybe.” She nodded to herself. “Maybe it isn’t a death flag.”

He agreed. “No. No, perhaps it is not. We will weather this ordeal. Somehow.”


End file.
